


Cruel To Be Kind

by DarkmoonSigel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, beta? what beta?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles dares to ask the kinds of questions that no one else will. Like is anyone ever kind to Derek? This is a story of what happens in answer to that question.  Some spoilers if you're not caught up to season two! Read at own risk!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The power of sandwich, even a poorly made one.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I have no idea what I am doing or why, so read this at your own risk.  
> Grammar nazis- there is no beta so don't waste your time bothering me about it.  
> Homophobes- this is male on male so don't waste your time bothering me about it.  
> Extreme fans of the series-I just got into Teen Wolf and am honestly not a huge fan of it so don't waste your time bothering me about it.
> 
> Why am I writing this then? I happen to really like the idea of Sterek and my brain won't leave me alone about it. So love it, hate it, whatever. It's still going to get written. 
> 
> Oh that sandwich is a real thing I make. It's delicious mess of sugar, salt, and guilt. Nutella is the shit.

It all started with a sandwich really. Ridiculous notion but when had Stiles’s life ever made that much sense, especially now. He was sitting through another pack meeting, the token human among a room full of animals and others since Lydia was an Immune. Scott refused to go to them alone but it wasn’t like Stiles had any other plans on a Friday night, like a date that didn’t involve his left hand and the internet.

Stiles sighed, his gaze flitting momentarily to Lydia. The ten year plan was so over, over as in crashed, burned, and buried over with no survivors. Pretty much when the girls of your obsession turns the monster back into a douche bag with the power of her love alone, it was time to take the plan out back to pasture and shoot it. On the plus side though now that he didn’t have Lydia constantly on his mind anymore, it gave Stiles’s brain a chance to focus on other people, or more accurately, other werewolves.

Isaac was sitting too close to Scott again, as per usual, who was preening under the hero worship whether he wanted to admit it or not. It was some kind of fucked up bromance there that Stiles wasn’t about to touch with a ten foot pole with someone’s dick attached to it. He loved Scott like a brother but he was going to have to dig himself out of this one on his own.

Even with all his new senses and powers, Scott failed to take note of even half the things Stiles noticed in a glance. It was the gift and the curse of having an overactive brain that collected, stored, and reviewed everything it observed constantly, making connections when and where no one else saw them, but had saved their lives on more than one occasion so Stiles reasoned out that it could be a hell of a lot worse than having to take Adderall. 

Of course Scott might welcome the distraction that Isaac offered while Allison was still MIA. The young huntress had dropped off the face of the earth with barely a ‘fare thee well’ to anyone, including Scott. Stiles couldn’t really bring himself to hate her on Scott’s behalf or even find the energy to care. In his opinion, Allison had been a temporary extension of Scott and the means to an end of helping his friend stay in control of his wolf. Now that the star crossed lovers were no longer attached at the hip anymore, Stiles found that his life was unnoticeably diminished or improved by her absence, so her very being was set on the backburners of his mind. Stiles’s brain ran constantly so nothing was ever truly forgotten. It was just relabeled and resorted for later consideration. 

Lydia and Jackson sat in elegant repose, like attractive bookends sitting back to back to each other. What some outsider would have mistaken for posing was actually their need to feel each other as much as possible, their hands linked together on either side. In Stiles’s humble opinion, he thought that they were dangerously codependent but that could be just a little bit of bitterness on his part talking. Their positioning was tactical, serving as protection to one another as well, the source of their unspoken apprehension lurking in the background. Stiles couldn’t blame them. Peter was creepy as all fuck.

The uncle of nightmares and the bringer of all things supernatural in their lives was lingering on the fringe during the entire meeting, the older werewolf favoring to move about in the background’s shadows, never offering more than a few cryptic, sarcastic words to remind everyone that the bastard was still here, like anyone was about to forget that anytime soon. As much as he would have liked to see Derek tear his uncle’s throat out again, Stiles understood why he didn’t, even if no else did. Peter, for a whole lot worse than better, was not only pack but family as well, the only little bit of left alive Derek had left. Despite his past shortcomings as an alpha, Stiles noticed that Derek kept a close eye on Peter, never letting him get too close to Lydia or Jackson.

Moving on because it was never a good idea to focus on Uncle Crazy for too long, Stiles noticed that Erica and Boyd were sitting so close to one another that they were practically in each other’s pockets, an officially mated pair now. Stiles was happy for them in way, that they had found some sort of balance in each other especially after what had happened to them during their time under the Argent’s tender care. After escaping, Boyd and Erica had come crawling back to Derek, even though they had been expecting death by his claws for their abandonment. 

To everyone’s surprise, Derek had welcomed them back with no more than a cuff to the back of their heads. The alpha wasn’t exactly a ‘forgive and forget’ kinda wolf but he treated his betas decently despite their betrayal, accepting Erica and Boyd back into the fold with only a few terse words and a lot of heavy eyebrow action. 

Speaking of their fearless leader, the brows seemed to be doing double time tonight as Stiles turned his full attention back to Derek who was giving them the latest info about the alpha pack. For whatever reason, the threat had moved on but Derek warned them to keep constant vigilance. It all seemed too easy and Stiles had to agree with him. In their lives, they didn’t do easy. 

The meeting was short and sweet because Derek wasn’t much of a talker or one for wasting other people’s time. With the exception of Peter who wandered off to only god knows where, the rest of them broke off into pairs, most not wanting to go home just yet or leave one another’s presence. 

Derek had spent some time and a lot of money fixing up the old Hale house, finally acting like a real alpha by making a home base for his pack. The burnt out shell of a house had been torn down to its foundations and built anew-better, stronger, and not surprisingly, fireproof. It was something Derek had insisted upon, along with steel doors, and heavily fortified walls. The various panic rooms and escape routes he put in himself with the beta’s help. Some secrets were not meant for humans.

The Hale house arose like a phoenix from its ashes, a beacon in the woods to the turned. With Deaton’s help, various wards were erected and under the sorcerer-in-hiding’s tutelage were maintained by Stiles. Even though he wasn’t a wolf, Stiles had carved himself out a place in the pack as their official magic user(still in-training but vital since the werewolves’ bestial nature made it impossible to work most magic on their own) and researcher of the weird whether Derek wanted him there or not. Stiles could never be too sure about the alpha’s opinion about him. Derek always seemed to be either annoyed with him or ignored him entirely, which was fine with Stiles. Derek only seemed to talk to him when he wanted something anyway. At least they had progressed far enough along in their non relationship to where Derek no longer slammed him into walls or any other hard surface. He even kept the death threats done to a bare minimum.

Unsurprisingly, Jackson and Lydia claimed the love seat in the corner as their territory, being terribly and disgustingly in love with one another while ignoring all the repeated suggestions to go get a room. Erica and Boyd decided it was their personal mission in life to decimate the rest of the snack food. Isaac challenged Scott to a round of darts which was made all the more interesting when werewolves were involved. Everyone took bets on how soon the dart board shattered from the force of their throws, loser charged with buying the new one. Derek was going to have to get something heavy duty made up, like from steel or something if he ever planned on keeping a whole one for very long. 

Speaking of the Alpha…….Stiles noticed that Derek kind of just fell back into the background, curled up by himself on the couch. He watched the betas but never made a move to join any of them and that alone got Stiles thinking.

Stiles’s method of thinking was actually a highly complicated thing. Some people tended to equate ADHD with stupidity, vapid attention span, and the inability to grasp any concept well or for very long. Not true and especially not true in Stiles’s case. His high GPA and nearly perfect report card was proof enough of that, because when Stiles really thought about something, entire series of novels could be written about the amount of knowledge Stiles accrued from his observations. Through his mind’s eye, all movements and nuances of life were observed, catalogued and evaluated in short increments of times that other people tended to dismiss as unnecessary or useless information. Stiles was quite good at finding the overlooked and asking the questions no one bothered with.

Like was anyone ever nice to Derek?

Damn, if Stiles wasn’t racking his brain to find the answer. Admittedly the alpha was the most cuddly of individuals but Stiles couldn’t remember any instance of anyone being particular nice to him.

The betas’ feeling toward their alpha seemed to range from begrudging respect to underlining fear of him. Though he made efforts now to get along, one didn’t need hyperaware wolf senses to conclude that Scott disliked and disapproved of Derek’s position. Lydia appeared to be indifferent as long as Jackson was safe, but who could really tell with her. Despite everything, Jackson was Jackson, only listening to Derek when he absolutely had to, under the impression that he knew everything already. Last to his knowledge, Allison still hated Derek though in Stiles’s opinion, she really should be hating her mother more for being so damn selfish. The bite had been her own fault and hadn’t brought about her demise. Her own prejudice and pride had done that well enough for her. 

Even the residents of Beacon Hill seemed to either loathe Derek or pity him. Of the two opinion, Stiles didn’t know which he considered worse. Everyone talked behind his back when Derek dared to leave his house or be seen by the populace. Stiles knew this firsthand having witnessed it the few times he had happen to glimpse Derek out while shopping. What made it worse was that Stiles knew Derek could hear every word, every conversation about him but couldn’t say a damn thing in his own defense without coming off as a crazy person or revealing his true nature.

It made Stiles sad that no one bothered being nice to Derek. He wasn’t friendly or even polite most of the time, but he was loyal and protective of what he considered his, practically to a fault. Hell, Scott was living and still breathing proof of that. Derek had been willing to help the newly turned wolf even after Scott had gotten him arrested for his sister’s murder and made him a fugitive after the whole school incident. Stiles felt that said something about his character. It wasn’t much but it was enough to make him flop down next to Derek, the alpha staring back at him like he was insane. 

“What the hell do you want?”, Derek grumbled, glaring at the lanky teenager who was rummaged around in the pockets of his cargo pants. 

“Nothing. Just looking to rest my bones and eat my sammich.”, Stiles crowed in victory as he pulled out a brown back from his back pocket(when had that gotten back there?) that was a little mashed up from him sitting on it and a little moist in places. 

“That’s what I’ve been smelling all night?”, Derek grimaced, curling his upper lip up enough in disgust to show a little fang of ire. It was a wasted effort, Stiles too busy freeing a monstrosity from its sodden wrapper. That and he was actually quite proud of his sandwich. 

Between two thick slices of freshly baked mountain bread was Nutella, marshmallow fluff, sliced bananas, strawberry jam, and turkey bacon. At this point, the bread was barely an effective barrier anymore or could still even be considered bread really, forcing Stiles use the bag as a plate to catch its dripping innards of salty sweet perfection. 

It was a split second decision on his part, like most everything in Stile’s life was now, but one he committed to. Tearing the sandwich in half was a moist sound, Stiles offered it to Derek who recoiled a bit like the stickiness being presented to him was wolf’s bane in disguise of squishy sandwich, blinking back in surprise. 

“ADHD and low blood sugar are a serious no beuno, especially if you think I am annoying now.”, Stiles said, turning the sandwich this way and that in a precarious balancing act of filling vs. failing bread integrity. Derek still looked like Stiles was offering him poison instead of a diabetes inducing snack, but reached out to gingerly accept the sandwich. Feeling giddy which he blamed on the lack of food in his stomach, Stiles watched Derek out of the corner of his eye as the sandwich was messily eaten but in all fairness, he faired no better with it either. Nice thing about werewolves was that they didn’t give a shit about table manners though Lydia gave them the stink eye when they started to lick their fingers clean. 

“So what do you think?”, Stiles grinned, crumpling up the moist paper bag into a ball to chuck it at Scott’s head. It was win win either way whether it hit or was caught in hand, being a missile of mass sticky destruction. Scott groaned when he realized his mistake, though he thought better of launching it back when he noticed Stiles close proximity to Derek. He glared at the Alpha in passing as he stalked off to go wash his hands. Unimpressed, Derek rolled his eyes back at him. 

“Too sweet.”, was all Derek offered, taking his leave. Stiles watched him go and felt oddly put off by his departure for the rest of the evening. 

It was a small thing. The small exchange between them was totally ignorable really. Anyone else would have forgotten or dismissed it entirely. Not Stiles though. No, his overactive mind replayed every second over and over again whether he wanted to think about it or not. His focus lingered on Derek’s face and the look of disbelief it had held for the briefest of seconds when Stiles had offered to share his sandwich with him. A surprise that should have never existed at all over something so mundane. It made Stiles a little sad but it also made him curious. Curiosity and thinking was really a vicious circle with Stiles. Pebbles could cause avalanches and Stiles wanted to see how big this one got as he started to make plans. 

As far as plans went, it was a simple one. Stiles kept in mind that he was dealing with an animal as much as he was dealing with a man, if not more so. Both can be won over with time and effort, and he really can’t help equating Derek to a feral dog, one that has been kicked and beaten bloody until all that was left was fang, claw, and thick wall of distrust borne out of self preservation. As per usual, Stiles had no idea what he is doing or what the outcome of this will be, but a part of him would really like to see Derek less surprised when someone offered him a small kindness. 

“What are those?”, was Derek’s greeting as Stiles let himself into the house. Derek is probably ruing that decision but all pack members had a key to his house. Stiles planned to abuse the hell out of his.

“Swedish meatballs. What kind of savage are you that you don’t recognize Swedish meatballs?”, Stiles countered, lugging in the heavy crock pot filled to the brim with tender rounded morsels of ground meat and savory spices floating in a thick creamy sauce.

“Why are they here?”, Derek asked, taking the appliance from the uncoordinated teenager before its contents are spilled all over his floors. For someone who played lacrosse on a regular basis, Stiles had the amazing ability of tripping over flat surfaces and knocking into stationary objects. It was one of the reasons all the glass sliding doors had those stupid window stickers on them. The tempered glass was bullet proof but it would seem that it wasn’t Stiles proof. As much as Derek hated the happy little butterflies Erica had insisted upon him purchasing, the Alpha had gotten tired of cleaning Stiles’s face print off of his clean windows. 

“I made too many. I don’t want my dad to eat them all and figured someone here would like them. You’re welcome by the way, ingrate.”, Stiles shrugged, trying to not to come off as smug just in case it gave off a scent. Lying to werewolves was really an art form and one he excelled at now, the secret of which was to carefully omit while sticking to the truth. It was absolutely true that Stiles had made too many meatballs and that his dad shouldn’t eat them. He didn’t have to admit that he had made them for Derek and Derek only in mind. 

“We’re not your own personal garbage disposal.”, Derek grumbled, lugging the crock pot into the kitchen, to place it carefully on the counter, plugging it in. Stiles hadn’t failed to notice that Derek’s nose hadn’t stopped twitching or that he kept swallowing and licking his lips.

“Garbage?”, Stiles feigned insult upon injury by clutching his hand over his heart dramatically. “I’ll have you know that this is Grangran Stilinski’s very own secret recipe, you meatball heathen. I dare you to just eat one.”.

Derek snorted in answer, making no move to do so of course. Stiles shrugged, giving the appearance of defeat even as he declared this a veiled victory in his head, leaving the werewolf to his meatballs.

He declared it an official victory when Stiles found his crockpot returned to him in the morning, the appliance sparkling clean and left on his desk Though there was no note with it, Stile knew which werewolf had returned it, his bedroom window left open.


	2. Who doesn't like Italian food?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stile continues his experiment in kindness with Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHORT CHAPTER OF SHORT.   
> Sorry but I didn't want to lose momentum with this story. If I don't post something for it, I won't remember to at all.

When the newest monster of the week inevitably showed up to start eating townspeople of Beacon Hill like its favorite brand of chicken nuggets, Stiles strategically positioned himself. He knew roughly when Derek would get his head out of his ass long enough to come looking for answers. So it came as no surprise when Stiles looked up from his cutting board to find a werewolf looming over him.

“Took you long enough. Here, finish chopping this so I can stir the sauce.”, Stiles delegated, not really giving Derek as option in the matter as he walked away from the partially chopped head of escarole to take care of the red sauce that was simmering away on the stove, filling the house with the soft lingering scents of spices and herbs goodness.

“You were expecting me?”, Derek sounded a touch miffed but from the clink of metal against wood and the crunch of vegetable demise was chopping up the escarole.

“To use the front door like a normal person? Never.”, Stiles whipped, tasting the sauce after a stir. Smacking his lips, he decided to add a touch more red pepper to it. “I need that clove of garlic and onion minced as well.”.

“Not a chance. That stink will stay on my hands forever.”, Derek grumbled, finishing up his task. Not knowing what to do with himself when he was done, the alpha awkwardly stood there, feeling very much out of place. The kitchen was definitely Stiles’s territory and he wasn’t sure where he fit in it.

“Pussywillow.”, Stiles snickered, fussing over the pot for a moment longer before deciding to lower the heat just a touch. 

“Werewolf.”, Derek growled, tapping the side of his nose. Stiles shrugged in non answer, tackling the olfactory offending vegetables instead.

“How are you today?”, Stiles asked, wrinkling his nose at the garlic as he minced. He looked up when he was answered with silence to find Derek looking at him with a strange, furrowed look on his face. 

“What are you doing?”, Derek said slowly and with great care like he was trying to figure Stiles out, who wasn’t worried about it. His own father had been trying to do that since birth. 

“Attempting to have a civil conversation.”, Stiles threw Derek a smile just to mess with him. “Do you want bowties or strings?”.

Derek continued to look uneasy, the werewolf shifting his weight from foot to foot. “What are you making?”, he answered eventually like it was almost against his will, the words coming out at a verbal crawl. 

“Secret sauce.”, Stiles snorted, “And you call yourself a werewolf. It’s marinara.”

“Another Grangran Stilinski secret recipe?”, Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles wondered if the alpha was going to hurt himself doing that gesture one day. 

“Don’t mock. I could tell that my crockpot was licked clean.”, Stiles said to an answering look of surprise. He had meant it as a joke, but if Derek’s sudden uncomfortable expression was anything to go by, Stiles wasn’t too far from the mark. It took physically painful effort on Stile’s part to not comment or bust out laughing as he leaned in to slice and dice his onion. 

“You can have some when it’s done but you need to pick your pasta poison.”, Stiles managed to say instead. He didn’t want Derek to think he was mocking him. “I’ll look up your freak of the week when I’m done here.”.

“Bowties.”, Derek said softly after a few moments. If it had been anyone else, Stiles would have said that his answer sounded shy and uncertain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. :)  
> Have a lovely day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
